Chapter 5
Slowly, I push myself up, then rub my eyes and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
For a while, I just sit and absorb everything.
I’m exhausted right down to my bones, but I don’t feel as nauseous as I usually do after one of these dreams. My alarm beeps on the bedside table beside me, and I absently reach over and switch it off.
I should get up but I don’t. My head feels like it’s packed with sand.
There are so many thoughts and conflicting emotions that I can’t separate them.
The latest instalment of The Chronicles of Cordelia Crawshanks and Her Pet Demon have left me feeling…
I don’t know. Not newly sympathetic towards her—I’ve always felt that to a certain extent.
I may not condone what she did, but I understand it.
After the abuse she suffered at Crowscroft Asylum, existing in a world where she wasn’t valued or protected, going after those who hurt her and others like her was a way of taking back what they stole.
But seeing her with that child, feeling what she felt when she held him.
Was it even real? Did my mind conjure up a child for her to save so I could somehow make her more human?
More relatable? Had it been part dream, part memory, part vision?
Honestly, I just don’t know anymore. I’ve spent a lot of time researching the Crawshanks family tree—my family tree—and I’ve never come across the name Tobias.
Did Cornelius see that he was kept safe?
Maybe placed with a good family? Or did he just do what so many others would have and send him straight back to the poorhouse?
With a sigh, I glance at my phone and note the time. I don’t have all morning to sit here and ponder the mysteries of the Crawshanks family. Not today. Today is my mother’s funeral.
I did consider just not going. After all, as far as Sam, Tristan, and the others are aware, I didn’t know Vivienne.
But something gnaws in my gut, and even if I can’t yet put a name to it, I do know I’ll regret it if I don’t go.
Not that it’ll give me any kind of closure, but I should at least make the effort.
Pushing myself up off my bed, I make it neatly and then head into the bathroom.
While I shower and dress, I take a moment to centre myself, reaching for my magic and my training, anything to settle my nerves and strengthen my shields.
Although I’ve mostly learned to tune out other people’s emotions since I’ve been in London, the threat of being overwhelmed is always in the background.
If I’m not careful, and don’t keep tight control of my ability…
I shake my head and focus on my reflection, straightening my tie and smoothing down my hair.
Picking up my phone to slide it into my pocket, I pause, my finger hovering over the screen.
I really want to talk to my dads. They’ve been sending regular updates from their cruise, and they just look so happy that I don’t want to worry them when they’re on the other side of the world.
They’re going to be pissed when they get back and find out I’ve kept all this from them.
With a sigh, I slip my phone into my pocket and button my suit jacket.
Checking my watch, I see I still have some time. I’m about to head into the kitchen to make a cup of tea when I hear a sound that chills my blood and makes the tiny hairs on my arms rise.
Musical notes. An eerie and mournful tune, slightly off-key, as if played slower than it should be. There’s only one thing in this building that could make that noise.
The music box.
It’s been locked away since Sam and I found it on my doorstep at Christmas, stored with all the other cursed objects in the safe at the back of the shop. I must confess, I haven’t really thought about it. What with Vivienne’s murder and everything else going on, it had slipped my mind.
But there’s something deeply unsettling about those notes, something beyond the fact that it started playing of its own volition from a floor below me while locked inside a thick, impenetrable safe.
I shouldn’t even be able to hear it up here.
I don’t need to ask how it’s possible. The air is thick with the scent of magic, the sharp scent of petrichor with a smoky undertone.
What the hell?
Why now? Today of all days. Before I have a chance to think about what I’m doing, I leave my flat and head downstairs, toward the back room of the shop.
Pausing at the threshold, I draw in a slow breath.
The air is so thick down here it’s making me dizzy.
The notes are louder too. Now every single hair on my body is standing on end and a shiver runs down my spine.
There is something very wrong with that sound.
I back out of the room and then almost jump out of my skin at a sudden banging at the shop’s back door, which is the entrance to my flat. The music stops instantly, and the air clears until only a faint hint of the heaviness remains.
I draw in a shaky breath to calm my racing heart and smooth down my jacket, then open the door.
Sam is standing on the other side, causing my heart to thump harder, and for one awful moment, I want to throw myself into his arms and hold on tight. But I don’t. I straighten my spine, assume my most neutral expression, and take a step backwards.
Taking this as an invitation that I’m not sure I meant to imply, Sam steps inside. He’s wearing one of his usual suits, his only concession to formality being that he’s actually buttoned the collar and tightened his tie. It’s usually so loose that I sometimes wonder why he wears the damn thing.
He looks around, his brow furrowing, and sniffs. “You been burning candles down here, Prickles? It smells like a bonfire during a summer storm. Or are you actually having yourself a little witchy fire in the backroom? Should I have brought marshmallows and a fork with me?” he teases.
“You’re utterly ridiculous,” I say dryly.
His lips curve and he steps in close enough that I can almost feel the heat of his body.
I should move back, get some distance between us, but I don’t.
Nor do I move when he reaches up and grasps my jaw, skimming his fingertips along my skin as those dark eyes dance over my face.
Instead, I watch his gaze drop to my lips, and my breath catches when he leans in and those soft lips press against mine.
Despite what happened between us at Christmas, we’ve barely seen each other over the past several weeks.
Admittedly, I’ve been using the Vivienne situation to take a step back and get my bearings.
I don’t know what we’ve been building between us, but after all the time we spent talking over the phone while he was in Yorkshire, I can at least call us friends.
Friends who kiss.
My lips part on a sigh, offering him permission to deepen the kiss. One of his hands pinches my jaw softly and the other snakes around to grip my neck. My mind empties of every thought but him, and this time my heart pounds for a completely different reason.
The slide of his lips, the taste of his tongue. God, this man knows how to kiss.
I don’t want this moment to end, but it has to. I draw back, even though it takes everything in me to do so. Sam smiles, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine. His hands still grip me gently, as if he’s worried I’ll disappear…or run.
The latter is far more likely.
“Missed you, Prickles.” He smiles. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I’m not avoiding you, I promise. Just with the investigation into Viv’s murder and trying to rebuild my PI business…”
The guilt sharpens, and I pull back, causing him to drop his hold on my jaw. I clear my throat and force a polite smile.
“Have you and Danny made any progress?” I ask, for want of anything better to say.
Sam’s smile fades as he searches my face, for what I’m not sure.
I’m almost certain he’s going to ask me what’s wrong, which will only result in more lies, but he seems to think better of it and instead says, “No, not much. The new detective at the Yard is making things really difficult. We’re really no further along than we were when it first happened, and if we don’t get Maddie away from Detective Byrnes soon, we may end up with a second homicide on our hands. ”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“What are you sorry for, Prickles?”
I shrug. “Seemed like the thing to say.” My fingers twitch and I fight the urge to straighten his tie, which yes, might be tighter than usual but is still off-centre, and it’s bugging me now that I’ve noticed it. “I would’ve thought you’d be heading to the funeral with Danny and Tristan.”
“I said I’d meet them there,” he says casually. “Thought I’d ride with you.”
“I don’t drive.”
“But I do.”
My eyes narrow. “Why are you really here?” The realisation comes to me suddenly. “Oh my god, I don’t need babysitting, Sam.”
He shrugs again. “Pays to be a bit cautious. After all, there is a maniac on the loose using magic to kill.”
“We don’t know that they used magic to kill,” I pointed out. “Right now, all we know is that they used magic to bind Vivienne’s soul to keep her from talking in the afterlife…unless”—I frown—“have you got her post-mortem results back yet?”
Sam shakes his head. “Look, I’m not trying to babysit you. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself. Maybe I need you to protect me? Have you ever thought of that? Not everyone has their own honest-to-god witch with kick-ass powers. Maybe I need you to guard my body.”
“I stand by my earlier statement, you are utterly ridiculous. Do you really think I’d fall for that? You’re just as capable as I am.”
“Is that a compliment, Prickles?” He grins.
I sigh and roll my eyes. “Why are you like this?”
“Humour is how I deal with uncomfortable situations.”
“Did you just call me an uncomfortable situation?”
“No,” he snorts. “But I hate funerals. I figured it would at least be better with you. We could suffer through it together.”
“How romantic.”
He grins. “How about it? Wanna be my date?”